Apology Impossible Done Right
by The Nerdinator
Summary: What if the engine Philip was going up against wasn't James, but was Diesel?


**What if Apology Impossible was done differently?  
**

 **Note: this is not canon to the Ballad of Dominic storyline, as that story was originally written before Journey Beyond Sodor was released.**

* * *

James raced into Brendam Docks. "Heeeeeeeeere's James!" Philip was caught offguard and reversed involuntarily, knocking some oil cans off his flatbed. One of the cans landed on the rails...right where James stopped. Oil splattered onto both, though Philip got the worst of it.

"Oops!" James grimaced. "Sorry Philip. Tell you what, I'm taking you to get a washdown once I'm done with my goods train."

"You'd do that, James?" Philip asked excitedly.

"Of course I would! Really useful engines clean up after their messes, after all."

Behind them, Diesel and Bert were watching the scene. Diesel scowled. "Who does Philip think he is, hanging out with steamies?"

"Oh, give it a rest, Diesel, the steamers aren't goin' anywhere and we should accept that," Bert grumbled.

* * *

But Diesel didn't give it a rest.

Later that day, Philip arrived at the Vicarstown Dieselworks. Diesel Ten, the cynical Class 42 who ran it, was surprised to see him there. "Philip? I've never seen you come here for repairs before."

"Well, when I was getting a washdown a workman found out that my engine's wearing out, so I've come here to get a professional to look at it."

"Ah."

Before Philip could enter, though, Diesel appeared on the track in front of him. "No, Philip, you're not coming in!"

"What? Diesel, if I don't get my engine looked at now, it could get a lot worse!"

"Yeah, well, you should've thought of that before you took James' offer."

Diesel Ten had heard the story of that morning, and groaned. "Diesel, _please_ , for the love of all things oily, let the kid get fixed." Despite Philip's base being far older than Diesel Ten's, the former had been brought to life after the latter by several years.

"Oh? And who's going to make me?" Diesel sneered.

" _Me_ , if I have to," Diesel Ten replied, opening his roof and protracting his excavator's claw. He snapped Pinchy's jaws for emphasis. Diesel conceded defeat and reversed, letting Philip roll in, Diesel Ten following.

Diesel grumbled. "Diesel Ten used to be so cool before that Lady character showed up. What's her deal, anyway? An oil-burning steamie? Is she _trying_ to be a diesel? Because she's not doing a very good job of it." He sulked his way off to his next job, unaware that Diesel Ten had heard his remarks.

* * *

The next morning, Thomas wrinkled his nose as the smell in Knapford Yard made itself known. "Pee-yew! That's a lot of fish!"

"It is indeed, Thomas," Sir Topham Hatt agreed. Behind him were many trucks of sardines. "Thanks again Henry!"

"No problem, sir! This is why I moved to Vicarstown! Well, that and I didn't want a repeat of my crash last year," Henry said as he departed.

"It's alright." To the other engines present, Thomas, Rosie, Billy, Stanley, and Philip, he said, "These sardines need to get to the market at Suddery quickly, or they'll spoil. I do wish we had more refrigerated vans, but we'll have to do with these trucks."

"I resent that!" the truck at the front complained.

"I didn't mean to insult you, Crash," Sir Topham Hatt sighed. "Now, Edward, Donald, and Douglas are all quite busy with passenger work today, BoCo's running the scrap train, and Derek is busy in the claypits, so we need another engine who's light enough to go on the line. Especially because the left side of the Fenland track is under repair, so we need to be careful not to overstress the bridge."

"Ooh, ooh! I'm light!" Philip exclaimed.

"Then the job can be yours, Philip."

The other engines sighed in relief. They didn't like the smell of fish that much and were more than happy Philip was so willing to take it.

* * *

"Don't worry little fishies, I'll get you to the market on time! Then people can eat you however people eat sardines!" Philip said to his cargo.

Crash snickered. "They're not alive, you know!"

"Of course I know that!" He saw a yellow flag and stopped.

"Okay everyone, send him over!" a workman said. The points changed, and Philip was on his way.

But on the other side of the track, Diesel was pulling a train of China clay. "Stupid Derek and his stupid engine problems...stupid twins and their stupid accents..." He was so caught up in his grumbling that he didn't notice the yellow flag.

"Diesel, we'd better stop," said his driver.

"What for?" He saw Philip. "...Oh. _Him_." He braked, and the two engines narrowly missed hitting each other. But they were on the same track, in opposite directions.

"Diesel! You gotta move! This bridge isn't safe!" Philip exclaimed.

"Yeah, yeah, we're small enough that our weight is irrelevant. And I'm _not_ moving." His driver tried to reverse him, but Diesel resisted, and his driver eventually gave up.

"What? Why?" Philip asked.

"Because I don't brake for steamies. _Or_ for traitors to dieselkind."

"Ach, give it a rest, will ye? Yer own kind's noot 'zactly revolutionary noo more!" That voice came from Donald, who was stuck on the side of the line Philip had come from. Of course, because it was under repair, Donald wasn't allowed to go onto the bridge itself.

Edward pulled up behind him. "What's going on?" one of his coaches, a blue one from his old railway named Victoria, asked.

"It appears we're being held up. Donald, what's the problem?"

"Diesel's bein' a wee prat to Philip and isn't lettin' him move."

"Diesel!" Edward scolded.

"Eh, shove off, Old Iron." Edward fumed internally at the nickname.

BoCo pulled up behind Edward. "Um, pardon me, Edward, but why aren't you moving?"

"Donald can't move."

"S'not me bloody fault, Philip can't move!"

"It's not my fault! Diesel won't let me move!"

"And I'm not gonna!"

BoCo sniffed the air and grimaced. "Well, you'd better do it quickly, those sardines are starting to turn."

Philip imagined the sardines rotting into a disgusting brown sludge, Sir Topham Hatt putting him into the sheds as punishment for not delivering them on time, and him rusting away into oblivion. "Diesel, I want you to move! And...say you're sorry! For delaying us, and for trying to keep me from getting fixed yesterday!"

"He did WHAT?!" the other three engines screamed.

"No," Diesel scowled. "I'm not moving unless _you_ move."

" _Fine_ ," Philip groaned. "Back up, everyone." They did so. As Diesel passed them, they all frowned at him. Even Philip's trucks.

* * *

"I'm in the water," Paxton noted the next morning as he was getting washed down.

Rosie chuckled at this. "You sure are, buddy."

"Maybe your driver should check to see if you need fixing while you're there," Philip suggested.

"Hope I don't, I might be the one pulling today's rubbish train," Paxton frowned. "Do I look like I need fixing to you, Rosie?"

"Can't tell, I don't know how diesels work. Sorry," Rosie shrugged.

"See, why can't Diesel ever say he's sorry?" Philip griped.

"Oh, but he will," Sir Topham Hatt said as Diesel arrived at Knapford Yards. "Diesel, I want you to say sorry to all the engines you delayed and insulted yesterday."

" _All_ of them?" Diesel asked skeptically.

" _All_ of them." Diesel looked up to see Philip, Edward, Donald, BoCo, Bill and Ben, and Derek were there, and all of them were frowning at him.

Diesel sighed. "Sorry everyone, you're really useful in your own ways, and I never should've said what I said."

"Uh, Sir Topham Hatt, will I have to pull the rubbish train if I need fixing?" Paxton asked.

"I'd never do such a thing, Paxton. Besides, _you're_ not going to be the one pulling it." Hatt glared at Diesel as he said this.

* * *

"Okay, here's your garbage," Diesel scowled on arriving at Whiff's dump.

"Not so fast, Diesel. You're coming here for the next three weeks, _and_ you're going to help sort the trucks, too," Whiff said. He and Scruff began to leave.

"Aren't you going to help me?" Diesel asked.

"Oh no!" Scruff laughed. "Hatt made it _very_ clear who's going to be working with you during that time."

After they disappeared, Diesel was confused. "I never _did_ understand those two."

But then things became a lot clearer when he heard a certain whistle. Diesel paled as a reddish-purple American-built GWR 101 replica pulled up next to him.

Lady glared at him. "Diesel Ten told me what you said about me. And when I'm done here three weeks from today, you're going to have eaten every last one of those words."

Diesel gulped. "Mommy."


End file.
